Dining With A King

She stands in the middle of the room, watching as they all dance and twirl around her. Everywhere she looks, she sees explosions of color. Drapes of the deepest blue pool on the floor like cascading falls. The walls shimmer as if the very stars of the sky have been embedded in them. The dancers move around the room in orbs of color...every color imaginable. They don't seem to notice her, for they are so caught up in the pleasure of the dance.

The table.

In the midst of this place, there is a table. It is thick, wide and long. It is draped in violet and laden from corner to corner with every kind of delicacy imaginable. She walks over to it, timid, afraid of getting to close. Her stomach responds to the sight and smell of the food. When was the last time she ate? She notices goblets of gold flanking each side of the table, representing those that would feast here.

What she wouldn't give to feast here.

She received an invitation to the palace, but she had not been prepared for this. She didn't even understand why she had been invited, and by the King himself, no less.

Why would the King invite her?

She was no one of consequence. She was a beggar, a pauper. There was nothing about her that beckoned the noble, much less a King.

How would the King even know her name?

She looked down at her ragged, brown tunic, frayed and torn from wear. It was the only one she had, and so she had come, just like she was. She felt very much out of place though, among such beauty. She wished she looked better, more presentable. She noticed the chair at the head of the table. It was made of emerald and light was streaming through it, around it, below it...so much light. It was breathtaking in beauty. She walked towards it, unable to help herself. Never had she seen anything like it. She got close enough to it that she saw her reflection in it's emerald surface. She backed away quickly, feeling like her reflection somehow took away from its beauty. She turned, then, and what she beheld was beyond words. The King himself stood there, staring down at her. He was clothed in vibrant color. His crown, it radiated from the precious stones set in its surface. His eyes, they were the color of sapphire and glowed with such intensity that she thought she saw fire in them. She could not tear her gaze from his. How could eyes of fire also radiate compassion? She was completely captivated by them.

And then he spoke her name.

She felt the force of his voice from head to toe and she stumbled back a step, gasping for breath. He reached out, and gently took her hand with his thick, strong one. She looked down at their hands, then back up at him. "Why am I here, your Majesty?" she asked timidly.

"Because I invited you." The King answered gently.

"But, why would you invite me?" She asked, looking down at the ground and feeling so out of place, so unworthy, that tears began to well in her eyes. He reached out, and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Because I choose you." he said, softly.

He led her to the head of the table, and showed her a seat, right next to his. Tears began streaming down her face as she realized that he meant for her to sit there, next to him.

He meant for her to dine at his table.

She looked at the table, then back at him. "I cannot sit at your table like this." She looked at her tunic, so worn, so stained...so dirty. Then, in a motion so quick she hardly had time to take it in, the King pulled his cloak off, and wrapped it around her dirty frame.

"You will wear mine."

She felt the thick, soft, fabric of his royal robe cover her from head to toe. She smelled the scent of the King on it, felt the warmth of it, and she could hardly believe it covered her. The King, he pulled her chair out, and bowed at the waist, offering her the seat.

"Please, join me." he said with joy in his voice. "I've prepared a feast, for you."

She sat then, in awe of it all. The King pushed her chair up to the table and then sat in his emerald chair. Everyone came to join, finding their place at this great feast. The sounds of laughter and joy hummed throughout the room. She watched it all, overwhelmed that she was here, sitting with the King, wearing his royal robe...

feasting at his table. 

He reached out and took her hand, smiling at her. He leaned in then, closer to her, and whispered words that filled her soul with the first peace she had ever known....

"I choose you." 

She did not understand, but the depth of compassion and acceptance she saw in his eyes left her with no argument. He chose her to dine at his table. How he knew her name she did not know. How he knew she was hungry, she did not know. How he knew she had nothing worthy of a King, she did not know. But he wanted her here, at his table, feasting with him. He had no reason to choose her, he had no reason to give her a place right next to him...but he had. He covered her with his robe, and fed her hunger. No one had every chosen her before, without motive. This King, he invited her here, expecting nothing in return. She could see that in his eyes. He wanted nothing from her. He simply chose her...and she would dine, here, at his table.

She would feast with the King.

"But you are chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light." 
1 Peter 2:9


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